


Say It Ain't Snow

by alliaskofyou, TryingToMystrade (TryingToScribble)



Series: Friends, Foes, and Festivities [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Blood, but there is a crime scene, fluffy as all hell, snowball fight!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 01:47:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliaskofyou/pseuds/alliaskofyou, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/pseuds/TryingToMystrade
Summary: Lighten up, boss! It's Christmas!





	Say It Ain't Snow

The flashing blue lights from the police cars were usually what got DI Greg Lestrade into his role once he got to his callouts. Driving up to a cordoned off area surrounded by bystanders, police cars, and forensics vans set the serious tone. Flashing his badge to the crime scene officer and making his way towards what was usually a dead body put him into the investigative mindset.

Today, however, the blue was completely overshadowed by the sheer expanse of white covering everything and everyone as far as the eye could see. Now, don’t let it be known, but Greg was all about snow and Winter and Christmas, but not while he was working. Snow when he was working meant less evidence to work with and more time running the cases. Especially when early reports mentioned the obscene amount of blood and yet even the red had become white, too.

It didn’t help that, on top of all that, it was bloody well cold.

“Alright, what do we have here, then?” DI Lestrade asked when he caught up to his sergeant, getting straight to the point.

Sergeant Donovan looked up with a slight frown. “Good morning to you, too.” She offered in return, but when Lestrade only scowled in response she sighed and continued. “Male. Late 20s, early 30s. Not sure what’s happened yet but the poor sod probably didn’t know what hit him. Lot of puncture wounds in his back, none that we can see from the front. Some of them look like they were different weapons, but we’ll need the ME to confirm.”

 

Donovan shrugged and pointed to the body of the victim as if that explained everything. It did, really. Lestrade let his gaze wander over the snow covered body and shook his head. Poor sod, indeed. There was nothing else they could do until they had evidence and a lead.

 

“Any witnesses?”

 

Nodding, Donovan pointed over her shoulder at a middle aged woman in joggers and a t-shirt. “Runner found the body.” She was covered by an orange blanket and was sat on a bench with a uniformed officer, taking a statement or comforting her he wasn’t sure; but one witness didn’t give him a job to do.

 

Paperwork it was, then.

 

“Alright,” Lestrade huffed and made to turn on his heels. “Let forensics do their thing, th-”

 

“It was the brother!” Came an unnecessarily loud shout that stopped him mid-sentence. He winced and hunched his shoulders. Then he scowled in the knowledge that Sherlock had just wandered onto his crime scene without being called. Then he straightened in the knowledge that Sherlock had just wandered onto his crime scene. His annoying, snowed over crime scene. With an answer. “It was the brother?” He asked with a little more relief than he should have let on.

 

Sherlock gave him the ‘you’re an idiot’ look. “Of course it was the brother! How can you not know it was the brother?” Before anyone had a chance to respond, Sherlock jumped over the body and crouched until his nose was near enough leaving marks in the snow. He inhaled deeply. “He’s wearing a very distinct and detestable aftershave. Obsession for Men.” He glanced up at a snort from Sergeant Donovan. “John went through a phase.” He added under his breath. “However,” Sherlock continued much louder. “There are two scents on his jacket. The other still very much a detestable men’s Christmas present but not the same. Not the girlfriend, then and friends aren’t likely to wear a god awful smell like that just to please a gift giver, so it’s the brother. I would explain the nature of the death but your suspect is getting away and I’m almost certain even your empty heads can figure that one out. I can’t believe I came out for barely even a three.”

 

With that, he considered himself done and was gone with the swish of his coat.

 

Lestrade would usually call after Sherlock and demand he explain why the brother had killed their victim, why he was on the crime scene, and that he come back and do this properly and with proper police procedure, but Lestrade knew that Sherlock wouldn’t do as he was told anyway and Lestrade wasn’t in the mood to argue today. He was just glad that Sherlock had given them the only information they needed to follow a lead that was no doubt correct. No cold snow investigations for him, ha!

 

Donovan was scowling at the retreating detective’s back but Lestrade knew that she was as pleased as he was that she wouldn’t be working a snow case.

 

He turned away from her and started his way back to his car, shouting over his shoulder that Donovan should meet him back at the Yard after his lunch hour. They could put the investigative team onto the brother and catch up when they got back to the office.

 

Lestrade was much happier at that moment than he was ten minutes ago. He didn’t even think about the snow as he passed back through it… Until he suddenly ended up on his back in it.

 

“Shit!” The DI shouted as the wind was knocked out of him and every officer on the perimeter turned to look. A smooth surface had been hidden by a wet patch of ice and Lestrade’s shoes hadn’t purchased any grip as he had stepped right over it. Much like a rollercoaster, his happy mood had been swept away again and this time all he had was a damp arse to show for his troubles. 

 

Donovan gave up her angry mask and was now opening laughing at her boss. A few of the officers snickered a little but none of them wanted to receive a reprimand for unprofessionalism on a crime scene by grumpy DI.

 

“Lighten up, boss!” Donovan shouted lightheartedly on their behalf. “The freak just solved your case. Get off your backside.” She followed the path he had taken a little more carefully and helped him to his feet despite another fit of giggles at seeing the storm on his face.

 

“I don’t need help, Sal, thanks.” Lestrade leaned back and pulled his coat tighter. “See you later.” He nodded at her and more steadily made his way to the car. Once he was out of the perimeter of the scene and less likely to be seen, he stopped to brush off his sleeves and trousers.

 

It was all in vain, however, as he got hit from behind by what was unmistakably a snowball. A poorly constructed ball of cold, wet snow pelted him right between the shoulder blades and slid slowly from his coat.

 

Lestrade swivelled round on his heels to glare at whatever kids thought it was funny to play by a crime scene but he came face to face with his sergeant once again. His brow furrowed, first with confusion and then annoyance. “We’re at a crime scene!” He hissed through his teeth. What was wrong with her today?

 

“No, boss. We’re  _ outside  _ a crime scene.” She replied and pointed to the crime scene tape that was now very clearly behind her. “You really need to lighten up.” Sally said again. She ducked to pick up some more snow and patted it down into a reasonably round shape before holding it up in warning. “It’s Christmas!”

 

Greg turned, a hand reaching into his pocket as if searching for his car keys, the other hand obscured from her view in front of him, collecting snow from the bonnet of his car. As Sally’s next snowball whizzed past his face, Greg turned back, simultaneously letting his own ball of snow fly through the air in Sally’s direction. 

 

“Oh, it is so on!”

 

Greg ducked another two projectiles and threw one more of his own that hit its mark. A third snowball hit him in the face and he scrambled to hide behind the car. More and more snowballs pelt the car and fly over his head, Sally’s attempt to draw him away from cover, but he stayed put to build a pile of snow ammunition. In his growing excitement (he really doesn’t hate the snow) he started throwing them over his shoulder before he was even looking at his target.

 

The low, startled shout that followed his frantic attempts at retaliation made him pause. That wasn’t Sally.

 

Greg popped his head out above the roof of his car, wary of an oncoming snow missile, and winced in horror and every other emotion that would prove how embarrassed he was. A well dressed man was stooped down on the other side of the vehicle brushing snow from his jacket. Greg felt awful; foolish. “Oh, shit.” He cursed under his breath and stepped around the bonnet. “I am so sorry, sir.” He hurried to apologise and moved to help as the man straightened himself and looked directly at him.

 

“Aren’t you on duty, Detective Inspector?”

 

Oh.

 

Oh, shit.

 

When Greg noticed his hands were still outstretched to help but had not yet moved to touch, he pulled them away in a semblance of a shrug.

 

“I’m sorry, Myc- Mr. Holmes.” Greg flicked his eyes to the side to check how close Sally was to hearing distance. She was only a few steps away. “Can I help you with something? The case isn’t a threat to national security or some such, is it?”

 

Mr. Holmes shook his head. “Not at all, Inspector. I was merely trying to catch my brother but it seems I’ve missed him again.” He waved a free hand in the direction of the crime scene before leaning forward on his umbrella with both arms.

 

“Of course, yeah. He whizzed in, deduced the lot, and popped off again like he had a fire lit under his ar-” Greg coughed when he remembered again the listening ears. “Yes, he disappeared pretty quickly.” Greg nodded but he was still fussing about Mycroft’s snow covered front. “Are you sure I can’t offer you my coat or… or a seat in the car for a moment to warm up and dry off a little. I feel just terrible about the…” He waved his hands at the wet patches across Mycroft’s middle. “Well... And I know you’ll be in that bloody-” Another cough. “Um, you’re surely not going to get time to change in the middle of your work day and I would hate for you to be damp and miserable on top of it all.”

 

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.” Mr. Holmes assured and Greg was sure he saw a twitch of his lips that indicated the holding back of a smile. Greg knew he was going to start blushing soon if he had to keep this up, but luckily he was saved from any further embarrassment.

 

“I’ll just get the last of this cleared up, sir.” Donovan piped up when she noticed something odd and she knew she certainly wasn’t needed for this conversation. “Meet you at the Yard.” She left without waiting or a response.

 

Greg sighed and his shoulders relaxed a little. “Sorry, love.” He said once he knew Sally was far enough away. “I wasn’t watching when I threw that. Didn’t know anyone else would be around, nevermind walk into the middle of it.” He stepped forward and swiped at Mycroft’s tie.

 

Mycroft stopped Greg’s fussing, holding their hands gently to his damp chest. “It matters not.” He smiled properly this time. “You’re quite distracting when you are distracted, it seems.”

 

Huffing a disbelieving and visible breath, Greg pretended not to have heard him.

 

“Will you at least take my scarf with you?”

 

Mycroft wasn’t given much of a choice since Greg used a moment of hesitation to unwrap the garment from his own neck and drape it over Mycroft’s shoulders to pull him closer. Their noses touched and they both stared at each other with crinkled eyes. However, before they could kiss, a tinny version of ‘It’s Raining Men’ started playing. Greg was confused for all of three seconds until Mycroft started to pat down his pockets in search of his phone. It was then that amusement hit him full force and he was almost bent double laughing, which escalated when Mycroft became increasingly frustrated at not finding the mobile. He started muttering to himself about how he was going to cut Sherlock into tiny pieces and ship said pieces far and wide so the demon could never put himself back together and meddle with the device ever again.

 

A triumphant “Ah-ha!” escaped Mycroft, cutting off further ramblings, and he was suddenly bending down and reaching for the snow.

 

When Mycroft was level with him again Greg realised he must have caused Mycroft to drop his phone earlier. “Sorry.” He mouthed as Mycroft made to answer the phone but the ringtone faded into silence before he had the chance.

 

“Bugger.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“There’s really no need to keep apologising, my dear.” Mycroft looked at the other man with such fondness that if it were possible, it would have melted and dried his damp front.

 

Greg gave a half shrug, not really sorry for being sorry, and found his own amusement in that. The mischief in the twinkle of his eye had Mycroft leaning down again to finally collect his kiss with a bit of his own mischievous glint.

 

The hand that had reached into the snow to pick up his phone was terribly cold and he knew exactly what he was doing as he placed said hand on the back of Greg’s newly exposed neck and tucked into his collar.

 

He really couldn’t help but laugh as Greg squealed and squirmed in surprise.

 

“Mycroft!”

 

“Yes, dear?”

 

“That’s bloody freezing!”

 

He gasped dramatically and replied sarcastically, “Say it ain’t snow!”


End file.
